Resident Evil: Chronicles
by coolkid32
Summary: A series of one-shots surrounding events before and after Resident Evil 5, tying into an upcoming story.
1. Chapter 1: Chris

_One, two, uppercut._

_One, two, uppercut._

_One, two, hook._

He was working the bag well, slamming it at every angle with his clenched fists.

_One, two, uppercut._

He knew Claire would worry, try to stop him. She'd tell him he was killing himself.

_One, two, hook. _

_One, two, uppercut._

She'd never truly understand. He'd died years ago.

_One, two, uppercut._

_One, two, hook._

When Jill... she took that fall... for him...

_One, two, hook._

_Hook, hook._

_Hook, hook._

Because they had found Wesker...

_Hook, hook, hook._

The bag flung itself against the wall, before settling in its regular position. He stood there for a moment, breathing heavily.

He'd find Wesker, he knew it. And when he did... all bets would be off.


	2. Chapter 2: Jill

There was a time once when she would have given anything for rest.

Now, she only wished to be free.

The pain had mostly receded from her body, as she floated half-consciously in a tank of fluid, her breathing kept in check by an apparatus strapped to her face and linked to the machine.

Her surroundings were blurry, foggy like a swamp. Occasionally, she could make out flashes of movement, but otherwise the world was still.

Her eyes were strained, partly from the fluid but also from fatigue.

She wanted desperately to break free. But her body remained still.

_Rest, Jill. Close your eyes for a while._

No, that wasn't right.

_Sleep, Jill. The world will be waiting._

It had been a long time since she took a nap. How long was it? Two, three years?

Since...the Mansion...

_Rest now._

She...tackled Wesker...out a window... the cliff-side

_You must rest._

Chris... was he alright...

_REST!_

No, she wouldn't rest. Her eyes shot open, feeling the slight burn of the fluid, as she pressed her palm against the glass repeatedly.

_Someone will come. Someone will come._

Her muscles tensed, then relaxed. Something new entered her breathing tube, and she felt her eyelids grow heavier. Her head began to droop.

Before she fell completely into the depths of slumber, she risked one last glanced upward.

A man, with receding blond hair, dressed in black apparel, operating some kind of sharp instrument. Wearing... rounded sunglasses.

_I know him..._

Then the light vanished.


	3. Chapter 3: Claire

"Come on, close already!"

She'd spent the last five minutes pressing on the folds of a box, forcing them down to the best of her ability, but luck was not on her side. The box remained open.

Everything else was packed for the move, yet somehow this remained a problem.

She stopped pushing down to ponder for a second, then proceeded to open the box back up. Inside was a treasure trove of memories – and on top was a old photo from Chris' Air Force days.

Picking it up, she dusted off the photo and examined it closely. It seemed like a lifetime ago, what with her brother looking so young and, well, happy. He was standing against a chopper, smiling earnestly, with the arm of a familiar middle-aged man draped around his shoulders.

_Barry Burton, you still manage to make us feel young._

She smirked at that.

Next was an image from Chris' S.T.A.R.S. days. This weighed on her more, like her heart had turned to lead.

Similar to the other image, both teams of the S.T.A.R.S unit were posing in front of a chopper. Chris was kneeling in the front row alongside Jill, looking as professional and compassionate as ever. Barry was in the rear, standing next to Captain Wesker.

Wesker... that name still drove fear in her heart.

She knew her brother wouldn't stop training himself, preparing for his violent reunion with that bastard. That monster who took Jill from the world...

Chris was dedicated to this mission of his, and she knew it. But she still wanted him to be happy.

She wanted a life for him, away from bio-terrorism and conspiracies and betrayal and anguish.

Feeling a lump in her throat, she decided against continuing to look at the photo, turning back to the box and finding...

Her heart sank.

Her fingers wrapped around a folded piece of paper, clearly older than five years. Slowly, she unfolded the paper, swallowed painfully and began to read.

_Dear Claire,_

_I'm living with Mr. Simmons now. He's a nice man, like Leon, but he doesn't have much time for me. He always says he has grown-up stuff to do. _

_We live in a big house, a lot bigger than my old house. There's a fountain, and a pool, and a library, and it's fun to run around (but not to get caught). Sometimes it's lonely. It's so big and empty that I get lost sometimes. _

_I still have bad dreams. They're terrible, and I want them to stop. I see monsters and I wish you and Leon were here to make them go away. I miss my parents _(Here, she noticed a tear stain). _I wish they would come back._

_I have to go now. It's almost bedtime. Love you, Claire. _

_Sherry_

She blinked a few times, breathing deeply and settling on the couch. But the pain was too much to bear, as she curled up on her side.

Her guard down, the tears began to fall. Tears for Chris, for Sherry, for Jill, for everyone.

Tomorrow, she would move. Today was meant for remembering.


	4. Chapter 4: Leon

His teeth clenched together as he shifted his weight. The bandage strapped to his ribs wasn't exactly helping his mobility.

What helped to distract from the pain of his last mission, though, was the pristine file sitting on his coffee table, marked with a symbol he knew signalled that this was of the highest importance.

The Presidential Seal.

_Well, best not to keep it waiting._

The file spread easily, as he sat up while continuing to cringe. As the pain eased, he began to focus on the collection of images neatly collected at the spine.

He hadn't spent much time in Africa, but he could recognize the basic terrain even from fuzzy satellite shots. Rugged terrain, harsh flora, minimal industrialization... this looked like a typical post-70s settlement.

It didn't say much about the file's importance, though.

Other images were located in the file's spine, appearing to have carefully inserted in terms of importance. The next photo was clearly a meeting between two men, one of whom was showing an object in a briefcase. The object had a distinctly vial-like feel to it.

_Bioweapons, perhaps? But then why call me?_

It was with the next image that all was clear.

He tensed, recognizing the danger of what he held. If anyone of lower clearance were to see this, it was likely they would silenced.

The image clearly hadn't been optimized, that was for sure. Satellites were hit-and-miss when it came to picture quality, but the distinct shape ever present in this particular image was unmistakable.

He could see the rounded head with the exposed brain, the glint of sharp claws and teeth, even a flicker of its dart-like tongue. Its body's crimson hue was iconic, its shape remarkably animalistic.

He'd seen this before. And he regretted seeing it once again.

"Shit."

He rose too quickly, increasing his regret ten-fold as his wound cried out in agony. He resorted to limping, grinding his teeth to no end as he eventually slunk against the wall near the phone.

As quickly as he could, he dialled and held the phone to his ear. The tone went once... twice... thrice...

"Hello, this is Chris Redfield. I'm not available at the moment, so please leave a message."

_Damn._

He hung up, then began dialling the next number he knew would help. Hopefully, the BSAA would be available at this time of night.

"Hello, this is the BSAA, North America branch."

He sighed. "Hi, I'm Federal Agent Kennedy. I'm calling to ask about one of your operatives, Chris Redfield. Is he available?"

"Just hold a moment, sir," the speaker stated. There was silence for about five seconds, then, "Ah... I'm sorry, Agent Kennedy. You just missed him."

"Look, I have some information I'd like to pass on to him. Can you get in touch with him?"

"Unfortunately not. He's just taken off on assignment for Africa."

He paused for a moment. "Where in Africa, if I may ask?"

"Let me take a look... it says here Kijuju. Little village in West Africa, very popular with the oil industry."

He chuckled at that. Now he understood the government's urgency in sending the file.

"Sir, are you still there?"

"Yes," he finally responded. "I believe I have some information the BSAA might be interested in."


	5. Chapter 5: Wesker

The plan was set. Jill, as his trusty right-hand, would ensure Irving continued distributing the parasite to the locales and would not hesitate to liberate him of life if the occasion called for it. Excella, being the obsessive lap-dog she was, would manage the business side of things, keeping Tricell satisfied and serving his whim. He himself had the requisite aircraft to carry the completed virus across the globe.

Everyone was in play as he desired. Everything was ready for his ascension.

So why was he so ill at ease?

Perhaps it was the lack of sleep – not that a being such as himself needed rest – or the constant heat making him testy.

Or, more likely, it was a nagging possibility in his mind. Something that tended to frighten him deep down, the more he considered it.

_What if he comes?_

It wasn't that he thought Redfield could kill him – he was practically a god by now. No, his concern arose from the fact that he had such a carefully plotted, carefully adjusted, cautiously co-ordinated plan for becoming truly all-powerful which could easily be derailed by one variable gone wrong.

And Redfield could be that variable.

Maybe, he argued, the senior BSAA agent would get sidetracked by the admittedly disturbing number of infected locales in Kijuju, eventually being overwhelmed and slaughtered.

That hope, however, was crushed by another argument: BSAA agents travel in pairs.

If Redfield ends up with another competent partner like Valentine, he could throw a wrench in everything he'd sought to accomplish. His plans would be ruined, his ascension may never happen, and

he may even die.

_Back up. Death is not an option. He will die – Redfield will die. _

He'd make certain of it, one way or another. So long as he still had strength in his body, and the will to fight, he would not die before Chris Redfield did.


	6. Chapter 6: Leon & Claire

The light was beginning to glare in from the shades, as the phone rang like a loud, obnoxious bell in his ears.

He groaned, slumped on the couch. He hadn't made it back to bed last night.

He'd been too busy trying to save a friend.

By the third ring, he managed to slump up to the kitchen counter, grab the phone and regain enough conscious thought to speak a quiet, "Hello?"

"Hey, Leon"

Even in his half-conscious state, he rose up at the sound of Claire's voice. "Hey, how have you been?"

"I'm good. Getting ready to move to my new apartment."

He rubbed his eyes, blinking a few times. "Really? I liked that apartment."

"Yeah, but Terra Save's getting some momentum, so they want me closer to headquarters."

"You're coming to D.C.?"

"That's right."

"Well, that's great. We could use a great girl like you here."

"Come on, Leon. I'm not _that _great."

He smirked. "Yes you are."

"Yeah, I really am." He could almost imagine her returning the smirk.

"So... you need any help moving?" He shifted his hip to avoid setting off his wound again.

"Well, actually, I do have quite a few boxes and I'll probably need a second pair of hands. Maybe if you're in the neighbourhood..."

"What time should I come by?"

"Hmm... can you be here by one?"

He glanced at the clock, his eyes focusing at the hour hand approaching twelve. "Yeah, I can make it."

"Great. See you soon."

* * *

Twelve to one, with beads of sweat on his face, he quickly pulled up into the parking garage of Claire's apartment. He could practically see the speed lines beginning to dissipate from around his car.

But he was here, and with time to spare.

The journey to her apartment flashed before his eyes. In what felt like a single moment, he was standing at her door, preparing to knock. Everything felt hazy, tiring.

Three raps on the door, his fist lightly clenched. A second later, the door gave way to a slightly-dishevelled red-head dressed in a very casual and comfortable sweater-jeans combo.

"Hey. Last time I checked, 1 o'clock didn't jump back ten minutes."

He chuckled. "Well, guess we've accidentally discovered time travel. That, or I'm just too amazing a person to be on time."

"Too amazing? Ha!" She allowed him to pass by her, grabbing a box before turning to face him. "I think this is everything."

"You think or you know? 'Cause we really don't have to go – we can just sit down a bit, play a little chess, maybe have a few cups of tea..."

Claire raised an eyebrow to that, though her smile said otherwise. "Really? I didn't think sarcasm was becoming of you, but you pull it off like a pro."

He'd have had a comeback ready, but the splitting pain in his side told him to get a move on.

"What's wrong, Leon? Cat got your tongue?"

"Nah, just... tired, I guess. Last mission did a number on me. Is this box good to go?" And with that, he picked up the nearest box, realizing its weight when his side ached once again.

* * *

Even carrying one box, she could see he was strained. He appeared almost lopsided, like his side was being compressed.

Within five minutes, they reached the parking garage and loaded up the first boxes. As he closed the trunk of his car, she noticed him lightly cringe. She knew how he reacted to pain: the wincing, the grinding teeth, the more rapid breathing.

As chivalrous as he was, sending him out in this condition would be cruel.

"You know, Claire, it's not polite to stare."

That jolted her back to reality. "It's just... a thought crossed my mind. I think I should stay for the day"

He turned to her, eyebrow raised as expected. "Why the change of heart?"

She paused for a moment, before a bulb lit in her head. She could feel a smirk appearing on her face, but she had to restrain it.

"I just think I should wait until _everyone _in my life is ready before I move. For instance," she said, hands in pockets, "there's a guy in my life."

"A guy? Who is this jerk?"

She chuckled, and moved forward. "That jerk's actually kind of a class act. Real hero type - likeable, brave, smart. But he never realizes how precious _his _life is to me."

Leon's eyebrow lowered ever so slightly. "You know, I think I know him. He'd probably say that you were worrying too much, and that all he cares about is you."

"Well, that's sweet, but I couldn't let him put himself under so much stress. He has his limits after all."

She continued to approach him, as he stood up right and moved toward her. He was starting to clue in, she knew it.

"I bet this guy knows it, but he'd tell you staying in one place has never been his style, _even _when it's for his own good. Unless..."

"Unless...?"

"Unless, Claire," he said, hand brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, "he knew that staying here, with you, is what you want."

"It is. Is it what he wants?"

Their foreheads touched, their eyes connected, they were separated by mere centimetres.

"It is, Claire."

She smiled. "This is the part where he stops talking."

The distance closed at last. Today, leaving would not be a concern.


	7. Chapter 7: Chris & Jill

It was over. For the first time in many, many years, he breathed easy.

_We did it. We finally got him._

Years of preparing. Years of suffering. Wondering how he would live without her.

It had been heart-wrenching. His life was intertwined with Jill's; losing her was tantamount to his own death.

He'd sought answers. Relief. Justice. Vengeance. So much flooding his mind at once.

And now it was over. Wesker had finally been vanquished, sent to the depths of hell where he belonged.

He glanced outward, through the helicopter's side window. They'd begun to pass over the plains of West Africa, nearing the Atlantic Coast. Home was within reach.

Something stirring against his shoulder brought him back to the moment. Jill, lying against him, still weary from...well, everything.

She'd been sitting facing him until Sheva was dropped at BSAA's Africa branch, then she fell into a deep slumber seemingly verging on a coma. It was only natural he'd keep her close, after all this time.

_Three years. How much of that time was spent suffering? _

Her hair, a distinctly dull blond, complemented the weariness he could see on her face. The scars on her chest seemed to be healing well enough, but...

He sighed, resigned to acceptance. Jill was still alive, back in his life and he needed to be strong.

_It's just... the fatigue..._

There would be time to assess the damage that Wesker had done, that they had both suffered. For now, he could handle the uncertainty just for this one quiet moment.

Just for her.

* * *

A start brought her back into consciousness. She felt his chest shudder as he turned to her.

"Jill..."

She blinked tiredly, looking up from where her head was resting. His face seemed weary, but his eyes gave a hint of concern. He wanted relief, for her to be happy – to have a reason to live.

And he needed her to speak.

But what, pray tell, could be said? Years had passed, pain had been felt.

Nothing felt right to her. Not in a long time.

"Chris... do you remember... that night in '97?"

He raised an eyebrow ever so slightly, in that way that felt nostalgic to her. "The time Barry tried vodka?"

A chuckle arose from her, followed swiftly by a rough cough. "Yeah. You... recall how we... tried to talk him out of it."

"Yes. That man always was stubborn. Even with a dare."

"One of Joseph's dares, no less."

It stung to remember Joe, she could see it. Still, he pressed on with a chuckle. "Joseph certainly had his ways."

"Yeah. We were all hammered out of our minds that night, no thanks to him."

That elicited a true laugh, something that felt foreign to her. Something she'd ached for.

"Chris... do you remember what you said?"

He lent his head back against the rest, clearly lost in thought. "When I was walking you to your place?"

"Yes."

"I think," he started, "what I said was "Damn, we really got screwed.""

"Then... I said you'd never have... to worry about me. That I'm a big girl, and I can watch... my back. And my liquor intake."

"That's right."

"And you... you stopped. You stopped and looked at me, Chris."

She was starting to recall it, that look he'd given her. That look that he now wore – not exhaustion, not cunning, neither frustration nor anguish, just something natural that stood out in his eyes.

"Then... Chris, you said..."

He gripped her shoulder, kissing her lightly on the head. "I said not to think like that. I said we're partners to the end – always have been, always will be. And that nothing, _nothing_, would ever change that."

_Partners to the end. _

She felt a smile come on, the first in years. "Yeah, that's how I remember it."


End file.
